


Show Me Love

by PureShores



Series: Matters of the Heart [2]
Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, figuring it all out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PureShores/pseuds/PureShores
Summary: Max's confession of love didn't go as he planned so he tries to make it up to Helen with a perfect first date.
Relationships: Max Goodwin & Helen Sharpe, Max Goodwin/Helen Sharpe
Series: Matters of the Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702600
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because the desire to write for these two just won't leave me alone. I own nothing recognisable.

After the board meeting, Max has a rare vacancy in his normally full-to-bursting schedule. He usually likes to spend these infrequent moments of stillness up in he and Helen’s sanctuary on the rooftop, to get the sun on his face and fresh air in his lungs. Sometimes, if she’s free too, she joins him there, but he knows she has patients to see this afternoon, so the minute the board meeting breaks up, she’s out of her chair and hightailing it down to Oncology. His eyes follow her as she exits the room. He hates to see her go, but damn he loves to watch her leave.

Naturally, she’d deck him if she knew he was thinking any such thing, but she has always had a way of grabbing his attention. He notices when she’s around. Last week, for example, he’d been walking with Iggy, listening to him make his case for more money for the mental health department, when Helen had unexpectedly crossed their path. She hadn’t had time to talk or even stop, but she’d shot him that gorgeous, radiant smile as she’d passed by and just like that, he lost track of their conversation, had to ask to Iggy to repeat himself. Unfortunately, Iggy had noticed his inattention, and looked around to see what had drawn his gaze. He hadn’t said anything but had raised his eyebrows at Max in that knowing way that made him feel a little judged.

Not exactly the epitome of professionalism but hey, he’s only human, and there’s no question that she’s a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman, who according to recent revelations, is in love with him. He knew she cared for him, knew he was attracted to her, was reasonably confident that she felt something for him too. But to have this, for her to stand there and offer up her heart to him again is more than he ever dared to hope for. The first time, in her office, after Castro, he hadn’t been ready. Even though they’d both wanted it so much. The air had been thick with it, long repressed desire and yearning from both sides. She’d practically offered herself up for the taking, and all he’d had to do was let himself give in. But he couldn’t do it, and she walked away. He hurt her that day, he knows he did, and she would have been well within her rights to never want a bar of him again in any other capacity but professional.

And yet, here he is. Walking through the corridors, a man who has kissed Helen Sharpe. Who has, by some brilliant stroke of luck, apparently managed to win her heart, despite his stupidity, and his hesitance, and his tendency to bite off more than he can chew, and then beg her for help to fix whatever mess he managed to cause in the process. He reaches his office, tells his assistant to hold all calls and visitors unless they’re emergencies, and collapses into his chair, trying to get his head around how much has changed in the last few hours.

He can’t believe he told her like that; tapping away on his cellphone like some kind of workaholic space cadet, not even looking at her, like it was some foregone conclusion and not one of the most important things he’s ever said. It’s taken him months to build up the courage to even consider telling her how he feels, and he’d planned on doing it properly. Something well-thought out and romantic. Something worthy of her, and the way she makes him feel. She has been his unfailing support system since his first day at the Dam, she treated his cancer while he was the world’s least cooperative patient, kept the ship afloat when he was too sick to, she stuck by him after he lost Georgia and his world collapsed. She is, in short, a goddamned miracle.

He knows he was lucky to have Georgia, and when he’d lost her, he’d thought that was it; he’d had his great love and it was all downhill from here, but now there is Helen who he has such strong feelings for it almost frightens him. Max is not a religious man but that can’t be coincidence. Someone up there must like him. When he’d received that text message agreeing to let him take her out, he’d wanted to punch the air in triumph. He gets to be the guy who walks into the bar knowing he’s the luckiest guy in the place, that Helen is with him. He hasn’t felt elation like this in so long, not since he asked Georgia to marry him.

Georgia. The pang at his heart still hasn’t completely gone away when he thinks of her. He loved her, he lost her, has grieved her so deeply. Still feels the guilt that he lived, and she died, that she missed out on being a mother, that Helen turned his head almost immediately after they met. Even though they never acted on it, it was there, an almost tangible thing. But he was committed to Georgia. He loved Georgia. He was looking forward to being a parent with Georgia. He knows this. His friends at the Dam did all they could to save her life and grieved with him when they couldn’t. And she’d loved him, wanted him to be happy. He has to believe she’d be okay with this. That she wouldn’t want him to be alone, to raise their child alone.

Alice was one thing. Alice was someone going through the same situation he was, someone who could understand. A nice, safe relationship for both of them, to ease them back into the dating world, like sticking a toe in the pool before submerging themselves completely. But Helen…. Helen is different. There will be nothing easy about this. And there’ll be no get-outs, no takebacks, no casual arrangements. Their stairwell interlude had to end before they could get into the intricacies of what new label their already multifaceted relationship has now, but in his mind, mutual expressions of ‘I love you’ mean they both want to be a couple. A real one, committed to each other and no-one else.

At least, he knows that’s what he wants. He pictures her, his partner in every sense, hanging out together in the evenings and on weekends, spending time with Luna, travelling to work together, visiting her in her office during the day to steal a kiss just because he can. He can see it, the potential for a life together. He wants it. And it’s now within his grasp. So now the question is, where to take her for their first official date. They are both incredibly busy people with a lot of demands on their time. Many days, they have to make do with small snatches of time between other engagements to enjoy each other’s company. Tonight, he wants no interruptions, from the hospital or anything else. He wants to be alone with her, and preferably for longer than five minutes, and without one or the other needing to suddenly hurtle off somewhere else.

There’s a little Indian place he knows, tucked away in an alley near his apartment. He wouldn’t even know of its existence if he hadn’t jogged past it once. He’d been running late for work and he cut through the alley on his way to the subway. It’s a tiny little hole-in-the-wall, with just four tables and low lighting, but the food is great. He’s ordered takeout from them several times since he discovered it, but he’s never actually eaten at the restaurant. He pauses, considering. It’s quiet, and intimate, and close to home, but from the outside it does look a little shabby. Not dirty exactly, but in need of a refurbish, a fresh coat of paint, a new carpet perhaps. If he’s trying to impress her, perhaps it isn’t the way to go.

He thinks about Helen, so elegant, with her designer bags and tailored outfits, her seemingly endless collection of dangling earrings and her stylish high-heeled shoes. Her braids always arranged just so, her makeup never smudged or flaking. She is not only naturally beautiful, but always looks perfectly put together, a real achievement in a hospital the size and intensity of New Amsterdam. She appreciates the finer things in life. She likes to eat fine cuisine, stay in the best hotels, drink good wine. He remembers when she was with Akash that they used to travel around to concerts out of state and then come back to work the next day. She deserves these things. She works hard every day; she puts her patients first. She gives her all to the hospital and to her friends, and to Max especially. He wants to give her everything she deserves, to do all he can to show her that he can be at least somewhat worthy of her love.

He leans back in his chair, thinking hard.

* * *

There’s a thought at the back of Helen’s mind, and no matter what she does, she can’t shake it. It’s there while she’s with her oncology patients. It’s there when Kapoor pages for a hematology consult. It’s there when she stops for her afternoon coffee and two-minute gossip session with Bloom.

_“Max loves me.”_

She thinks it keeps repeating in her mind because she still can’t fully accept that it’s true. Three hours ago, she was just another woman pining over an insanely emotionally unavailable man. Almost a cliché, an unrequited longing for her handsome, kind boss that manages to simultaneously infuriate her, yet also ruin her for any other men at the same time.

Akash had called her on it, the day they’d officially broken up, when he’d finally accepted that he was never going to replace Max in her heart. _“I hope you get him, Helen,_ ” he’d said, with a tinge of bitterness. _“I truly do. Because no other man will stack up to him in your eyes, and I pity the man who tries.”_ He’d been right. During the past year, there’d been other men, other dates, but none had ever really gotten out of the starting blocks. She couldn’t have given them her heart even if she’d wanted to, it hadn’t truly belonged to her in years.

Frantically snapping fingers just beyond her nose pull her out of her thoughts.

“Jeez Helen, where were you?” Lauren is half laughing, half scowling at her, still clutching her coffee cup. “If I wanted silence and blank stares I’d go gossip with Iggy.”

“Sorry,” she says quickly. Too quickly. She cringes inwardly as Lauren’s eyes narrow. There’s a reason why she runs the ED so well, she’s quick on the uptake and perceptive as hell.

“All right, something’s up with you. I need to be back in the ED in thirty seconds. Spill.”

“I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” That at least is true. In fact, it’s the opposite, everything is completely, amazingly _right_ and she’s not sure what to do with that.

“Is it Max?” One can accuse Lauren Bloom of many things, but never beating about the bush.

“There isn’t any ‘it’ and if there was, why would it be about Max?” When Bloom gets her eyes on Helen there's only one strategy. Deny, deny, deny.

“Because when you get all spacey like this, it’s always Max. Or you and Max. Or Luna and Max. Or-"

“So, you’re saying I’m some kind of starry-eyed, lovesick bore who can’t think about anything else?” Helen interrupts angrily, but when she sees the glint of triumph in Lauren’s eyes, realizes she’s said too much.

“Lovesick?”

“That’s not what I meant."

“Hey, you said it, I didn’t.” Sometimes she thinks if Lauren hadn’t been born to be a doctor, she’d have made a hell of a PI. What with her eyes and ears all over the hospital, and her way of getting stuff out of people with ease, she’d have been a force to be reckoned with. For some reason, Lauren seems to take pity on her, and flicks her eyes down to her cellphone.

“Guess my thirty seconds is up,” she says, handing Helen her empty coffee cup with a significant kind of look. “But believe me, this conversation isn’t over.”

It’s not that she wants to keep this a secret from Lauren. On the contrary, she’s bursting to tell her, but just not yet. Not till she and Max have had time to figure it out on their own. There’s still a lot they have to talk about, and once Lauren knows, the whole hospital will know too.

As she strides back toward the ED, Helen resolves to avoid her for the rest of the day.

* * *

It takes half an hour on the phone, and no small amount of Max’s considerable charm, but he calls in a favor to get them a table at Cyronic, the hottest new restaurant in town. It’s been written up in all the food blogs, photos of the food have flooded Instagram, and it’s been given a glowing review by the Times, the Post, the Journal and every other periodical with a food reviewer. It’s packed out every night, and impossible to get a table. Micah Tebarros, the owner and head chef, has been hailed as a visionary and an inspiration, but when Max knew him, he was Mitch Turner, a nineteen year old kid from Tribeca, who was brought into his ER after a drug overdose that nearly killed him. Max wasn’t the one who had saved his life, that had been Doctor Anne Cassidy of the ED, but he’d been the one that had made the discovery that Turner had arrived in hospital with the drugs still in his possession. He’d made the decision not to alert the police who'd come around asking questions, on the condition that Mitch agreed to get help. He had seen it in his eyes, he had wanted to get clean, and Max thought he should be given the chance.

The risk had paid off. It hadn’t been easy, but Mitch had gotten clean, discovered a love of food and cooking in rehab and the rest was history. Today, Max has to wheedle his way past a very stuffy hostess and front of house manager before Mitch (now Micah) comes to the phone, but as soon as he realizes who is calling, he immediately promises one of his best tables (and best server) will be set aside for them.

“After all you did for me, Doc, I owe you one,” he says.

The rest of the day passes by agonizingly slowly. Even though he’s kept busy at almost every moment, he just wants it to be over so they can go and have their date. He’s passed Helen twice more in the halls but they’ve both been too busy to stop, so they’ve been simply grinning sheepishly at each other as the crush of people pulls them in opposite directions. But finally, it is over. The day shift wearily shuffles out, and the night shift trickles in to take up the mantle. There are no major dramas or incidents, everything is going as smoothly as it possibly can be. It’s time. He’s hastily arranged for a sitter for Luna, a lovely old lady in the apartment below his who doesn’t seem to have any family, but coos and fusses over his daughter every time he sees her. He races home to change clothes and hand Luna over, then races back again. If he doesn’t exactly _run_ to Helen’s door he certainly walks quite quickly, to the point that he stands outside for a moment without knocking, so he can catch his breath. He can hear her talking through the door. He can’t quite make out the words, but she sounds happy. He wonders for a moment if maybe she’s talking about him, about them. Personally, he can’t wait to start shouting it from the rooftops. Five minutes later, he’s helping her into her coat (and brushing her hair away from her neck with a little more thoroughness than necessary, because he can’t resist touching her a little more) and they’re out the door.

* * *

Cyronic is four or five blocks away from New Amsterdam, but the weather is pleasant, and the sun is starting to set so the walk doesn’t bother him at all. And it gets even better when he nervously reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, intertwining their fingers together and shooting him a bashful kind of smile. He hasn’t told her yet where they’re going; he’s decided to make it a surprise. And while he surprises her a lot anyway, he hopes this will be a nice surprise, as opposed to a half-cooked idea to improve the hospital which she then has to prevent from falling spectacularly to pieces. That’s how they work, him and Helen, he’s the one with the grandiose ideas and ideals, and she’s the one that works out how to make them actually work, how to make them credible. They’re a great team. He can only hope that comfortable cohesion will also translate into this new stage of their relationship, but so far, he feels pretty good about it.

They’ve been silent since they left the hospital, a comfortable silence, he thinks. But as they stop at a crosswalk, Helen turns to him with an anxious sort of frown.

“This is weird,” she says. “Why aren’t we talking?”

He considers this. “Well it’s been a long day.”

“Since when has that ever stopped us?”

That’s true, the two of them invariably have a million things to say to each other under normal circumstances. About work and Luna and music and books and interesting things they read in the medical journals or heard at conferences. About grocery prices, air pollution, politics, travel plans and whether red or yellow Skittles are superior. (He says red, she says yellow, but they both agree that the green ones are the worst.) When they disagree, they’ll argue until they’re blue in the face, slam doors in each other’s faces, and eventually simmer down enough to talk it out like adults. But these aren’t normal circumstances. This new relationship between them is so new, so delicate. He feels like one wrong move could bring it crashing down.

“Things are different now.” The crosswalk changes, and they join the sea of their fellow New Yorkers crossing the street. She still looks troubled as they walk another block or two in silence, and now she’s pointed it out, he’s getting a little concerned too. This is weird. Here he is, alone with one of his two favorite people in the whole world, and apparently, they don’t have a thing to say to each other? She pulls up short, to the annoyance of the people around them, who grumble and curse as they swerve to avoid them. Max has lived in New York all his life and knows too well how unwise it is to block a New York sidewalk during the evening commute, so he gently pulls her into an alcove at the front of a nearby coffee shop. When they’re safely tucked under the bright blue awning, she turns to him, with an odd mix of defiance and uncertainty.

“I don’t want things to be different between us.”

Horror slams into him, as he registers her words. Is she ditching him already? How has he already managed to ruin this? His panic must be showing because she smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

“I don’t mean this. This is everything I’ve always wanted, but we were friends first. We can talk about anything. I don’t want to lose that just because some things have changed.”

“Pretty big change, don’t you think?” he says, quirking an eyebrow at their still-joined hands.

“Yeah. And I get it. I’ve been where you are. The first real relationship after the loss of a partner is a huge step. Just remember this, don’t stop being you. Irrepressible, dedicated, sarcastic, hardheaded to the point of near obnoxiousness. The man who’ll argue with me all day about something he doesn’t agree with me on, even if he’s always wrong.” At this, she smirks at him. “That’s the man I fell in love with, and the man I want.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” It’s not until the words come out that he realizes that’s the crux of the matter. She and Luna are the only things that have kept him standing after losing Georgia. If this goes wrong, if he loses her too… She sighs, but not unkindly, and steps forward to hug him. Automatically, his arms open to her and she nestles into his embrace. Her body molds to his, like she belongs there.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” she says. “I guess we’re just going to have to make sure that we don’t have to. And you know how we’re going to do that?” She lifts her head from where it’s resting on his chest and looks him straight in the eye. “Talk to me,” she says, firmly. “Don’t shut me out again.” He remembers with shame the first few months after Georgia died. He pushed her away, cut her out, and then when he needed her, expected her to fall into line like nothing had changed.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Max. I know you’ve been through more than anyone should have to, but you’ve got to let me in. That’s the only way this is going to work. And I really, really want it to.” The last few words have a certain vulnerability that she doesn’t often display, and in that moment, he realizes that he’s not alone in being terrified that this thing is going to collapse around them. Which means, _holy crap_ , she really must love him.

He thinks about that as they continue their walk to the restaurant, but this time the silence truly is a comfortable one, as she lets him turn it all over in his head as they go. She’s right, he is gun-shy. After everything that’s happened, that’s to be expected. He knows what it is both to love and lose now, but if he’s not careful it might well happen again. Helen is strong, knows her worth. She won’t stand for his crap forever, and nor should she. Thankfully, they’ve finally reached the restaurant, and the queue is right down the block. Ignoring Helen’s protests that they’ll never get in here, and that they should just go where they planned, Max marches right up to the hostess and gives his name. Micah has clearly prepared her for their arrival because she smiles brightly at him and immediately shows them to a table by the window. Helen waits just long enough for the hostess to hand them each a menu and tactfully melt away, before she rounds on him.

“Max, what the hell? What happened to ‘a little Indian place you know?’”

“That was the original plan, but I thought you might prefer to go somewhere a little nicer.” He’s taken slightly aback at how confused she seems to be. He thought she’d be thrilled, but he’s clearly misread things.

“Why?”

“Because you’re you. You know about things like fancy food and fine wine. And I wanted to give you a first date to remember. One you deserve.” For a moment, she looks a little at war with herself, before she rolls her eyes at him in an affectionate sort of way, and then leans over to give him a peck on the lips.

“Oh Max, only you could manage to be so sweet, and yet so stupid at the same time. Don’t you get it? You could’ve taken me to a 7/11 on a street corner and I wouldn’t have cared.”

She gives him a moment to take that in, with that teasing gleam in her eyes that she gets when he’s the butt of the joke, and for the billionth time since The Kiss he can’t actually believe his luck that she’s sitting here with him now, that she’s chosen him.

“I have been waiting for this for so long,” she says softly, so that he can barely hear her over the loud chatter of their fellow diners. “For you. For _us_. You don’t have to bend over backwards to try and impress me. All that matters right now is you, me, and no interruptions.”

So, it does bother her too, the way they have to scrabble and scratch for every bit of time together at work. He always wondered. “And by the way,” she adds, with half a chuckle.

“Next time you want to take me to rub shoulders with the rich and fabulous, give me some warning so I can dress appropriately.”

“What are you talking about? You’re perfect,” he says sincerely. She’s immaculate, just like every other day, you’d never guess she just put in a twelve-hour shift at a bustling public hospital. And nothing ever affects her true beauty, in her eyes, in her smile, in how much she cares about her patients.

“And you’re biased.”

“Yes, completely,” he admits, unabashed. “But you already knew that. Now I get to show it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was all part of Chapter One but it was so long I chopped it in half. I hope you enjoy it!

The restaurant is modern and thoughtfully designed. The food is exceptional. Their server has been topnotch, and he’s sitting across the table from the most beautiful woman he’s ever set eyes on. Everything should be perfect; but Max forgot one crucial thing when he was planning their evening. Flashy, stylish locations beget flashy, stylish patrons, and they all want a piece of Doctor Helen.

Before he came to New Amsterdam, she was doing far more media appearances than she was practicing medicine, flying to all sorts of places, meeting all sorts of people. She cut back a lot at his request, and goes by Doctor Sharpe now, rather than Doctor Helen, but it seems the wealthy and influential of New York didn’t get the memo. It starts with their server, when she comes to take their order. He sees the spark of recognition in her eyes when she looks at Helen, but to her credit, she is the epitome of professionalism and doesn’t say a word. Next, when a group of middle-aged women are seated at the four-top nearby them, he can hear them whispering and giggling excitedly as they take their seats. Helen has clearly clocked them too because she looks decidedly uncomfortable and avoids eye contact at all costs.

Another waiter appears with two glasses of champagne on a tray. “From the man at the bar,” he says, proffering it to Helen, and they both crane their necks to see a portly man precariously balanced on a barstool, who lifts his own tumbler in a salute. “Apparently he’s a fan.”

“Take it back please,” Helen instructs him, firmly. “And please ask him not to disturb us again. It’s okay,” she adds, more gently, when the young waiter looks troubled. “I know it wasn’t your idea.”

As he disappears back into the bustle of the restaurant, Max sees the portly man frown. “I can’t pretend it’s not tempting to drink on someone else’s dime,” he says, as the young waiter, clearly at a loss for what else to do, places the two glasses in front of the man and hastily retreats.

She shakes her head. “It’s never just a drink,” she informs him. “There are always strings attached. Best to nip it in the bud from the beginning.” She sounds so world-weary as she says it that he knows there must be a story behind that. He refrains from asking, as she’s tense enough already.

Their entrées arrive as a welcome distraction and as they eat their scallops, Max looks around at their fellow diners. He spots a Broadway actress, a local politician, and the CEO of a cutting edge tech start-up just in his cursory sweep of the room and it becomes clear for him that people come here to people-watch as much as for the food and award winning cocktail menu. Helen is no A-list celebrity, but it seems she is certainly well-known enough to garner the interest of several people, and they’re both painfully aware that they’re being observed. Nobody has the gall to actually approach them, but just the feeling of curious eyes on their backs is enough to unsettle them, and for him to realize that the intimacy and the privacy he has been craving, they aren’t going to get here. He has a half a mind to suggest they get up and go somewhere else but they’re waiting for their main meals now, and she is excited about trying the signature Cyronic chicken dish, so they’re going to have to stick it out.

“Now I know how a goldfish feels,” he says, as a young couple passes by on the way to the bar and the woman’s eyes practically fall out of her head with excitement. Helen manages a small smile for her and then turns away. “Does this happen to you all the time?” asks Max.

“Sometimes, at conferences and stuff. But not like this. Usually it’s just some other doctor wanting to contest a point I made or asking me to talk up their personal cancer trials.”

“Even though your position has always been that traditional chemotherapy is the best option?”

“There are always exceptions, you’re living proof of that. And I have no doubt that there’ll be a better way to treat cancer in the future, but I’m not going to endorse some radical new treatment for mass consumption just because someone asks me to.”

There’s the Helen he knows, always ready to stand up for her beliefs and to do what she feels is right. He couldn’t have had anyone better fighting in his corner as he struggled to survive.

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” he asks now.

“Castro’s treatment did that,” she says stiffly, and he knows that her dislike of her former co-chair is battling with her gratitude that her targeted therapy worked. He’s still not fully clear on what exactly went on between them which culminated in Castro leaving the hospital, but he knows that their relationship was rocky from the beginning, and that it would have taken Helen a lot of mettle to approach her, all on his behalf .

“She got rid of the cancer,” he concedes. “But you did everything else. I couldn’t have done it without you. So, thank you.”

* * *

Helen wonders if he’ll ever understand how much he means to her, how much he's always mean to her, even when Georgia was alive, and thoughts of being with him were reserved for the darkest, deepest corners of her imagination. It wasn’t a choice. Saving him was imperative, even if she didn’t get to be the one that did it. It had meant swallowing a lot of pride to contact Valentina and sacrificing so much of what she had come to value, but he had lived. And she knows if it came to it, she’d do it again. Luna needs him, the hospital needs him, and she both needs _and_ wants him. They took a long road to get here, and she has no intention of giving him up. She’s about to tell him so, when a well-dressed man in his sixties strides up to the table, his hand outstretched.

“Doctor Max Goodwin, I thought that was you. Forgive the intrusion, but I just had to come over and find out how you’re using my money in that hospital of yours. Saving a lot of lives, I hope?”

Max looks momentarily taken aback, so she jumps in to cover for him. Her first instinct is to order the man to get the hell away from them, and can’t he see they’re clearly not here on hospital business? As she takes a better look at him, she suddenly remembers him, they met at the fundraiser a few months back. Hamilton Albright, local business magnate, and a major donor to the hospital, and therefore she’ll need to tread carefully. Money talks in the public health system, and a lot of these extra rich types run in the same circles. To slight one is to slight them all.

“That’s what we do, Mr. Albright,” she answers him with what she hopes is a casually friendly smile. Albright meets her eyes with a start as though he hadn’t noticed her before. “I’m sorry miss, you are?”

“Doctor Helen Sharpe, my deputy medical director and head of Oncology.” Max finds his voice. “You’ve met her before, at the gala a few months ago.” He is polite, but she can hear a definite edge to his words and knows he’s deeply insulted on her behalf.

Albright looks abashed for a moment before he seizes her hand too. “Doctor Sharpe, my deepest apologies. Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.” But she can tell he really has no idea at all who she is, even though she was standing next to Max for a good part of the night, and even though he’d called her up to the dais after he’d given his speech to help him reveal the total of the money raised. It doesn’t bother her really. Max is the main attraction of those events, the innovative, risk-taking medical director, and his natural charisma when he speaks has them all eating out of the palm of his hand. And it doesn’t hurt that he does look very, very handsome in a tuxedo. She wasn’t the only one in that ballroom who could barely keep her eyes off him that whole night.

Albright turns to her again. “If you could spare Max here for five minutes or so, there’s a few things I’d like to discuss with him. Changes I’d like to see.” He’s not really asking, she can tell. This is a man who is used to throwing his weight around, issuing instructions and seeing them obeyed without question, exactly the type that tends to get under Max’s skin. Sure enough, his eyes are narrowing, and she can see him clenching his jaw ever so slightly.

“I’m in the middle of something right now,” says Max, with a bad attempt at politeness. “if you phone my assistant, we can arrange a time to meet that will be convenient for you.”

“Right now, is convenient for me,” presses Albright. “Come on, just five minutes, I’ll buy you a drink, give you my ideas on how best to spend my money.”

She can see that Max is battling with himself not to snap at him. This man is an amalgamation of everything he hates; entitled, pushy, and completely out of touch with how a hospital needs to be run. The type who donates because it makes him look philanthropic and charitable but if he needed treatment himself, would insist on the presidential suite and for them all to kowtow to his every whim. However, as medical director, schmoozing the bigwigs is a big part of Max’s job, and telling this man what he thinks of him might slightly undermine that.

“Mr. Albright.” She draws his attention back to her with her most ingratiating, charming smile, and sees his pupils dilate as he looks at her properly for the first time. “We can’t tell you how grateful we are for your continuing support. And of course, your trust. It means a lot to us to know that you believe in what we’re doing at New Amsterdam. Doesn’t it, Max?”

He manages a nod of assent, which she takes as permission to continue.

“You’re a businessman. You know about trust. It’s important,” she goes on. “Especially in our line of work. And I’m sure you’ll agree that since Max took over, New Amsterdam has been heading in the right direction.” Albright looks a bit wrongfooted but agrees. She notices his eyes are fixed upon her legs now, and so clears her throat to draw his attention back to her. “So, trust us now,” she says, looking him straight in the eye.

“We know what we’re doing. And if I may say so, we don’t tell you how to do your job. So maybe you could do us the courtesy of not trying to tell us how to do ours.”

Silence falls. Max tries to hide his laughter as Albright looks from one of them to the other, seeming stunned. Helen wonders when the last time was someone has told him no, as he doesn’t seem to know how to respond. After a moment, he mumbles something about needing to get back to his table and dashes away.

“Bravo,” says Max, practically beaming with pride. “That was brilliant.”

“I know his type,” she says off-handedly. “Doctor Helen has had a few run-ins with them over the years.” Over the time she has spent in green rooms and television studios throughout her career, she’s met several individuals cut from the same cloth as Hamilton Albright. Not bad people, but just used to having their opinions agreed with. Surrounded by yes-people all day, sometimes it’s as simple as just telling them a flat-out ‘no’ to close a conversation in a hurry.

“If he didn’t remember you before, he certainly ought to now,” Max remarks, with a trace of ill-humor. “He was looking at you like you were dessert. Same as at the fundraiser.”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember? When you were introduced to him, he looked like he was mentally undressing you right there in the ballroom.”

“I didn’t notice.” This is true, at the time Mr. Albright had been just another drop in the ocean, another rich man to cajole into parting with his precious money. And well, Max had been standing next to her in his tuxedo, and she may or may not have been mentally undressing _him_ at that point (she’d been a couple of glasses of champagne in by then.)

“Well believe me, he was,” says Max, irritably.

“And you were what, jealous?” she asks.

“I was offended for you as a woman, a respected colleague, and a friend,” says Max, haughtily. “But also, yeah, maybe a little.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Her years of medical training helps her keep her tone cool and casual, but deep down inside she’s delighted at the idea he might have gotten a bit jealous over her. She spent so long suffering in silence, punishing herself for falling in love with a married man, it’s gratifying to know that she didn’t suffer totally alone.

“It wasn’t about him, precisely,” he clarifies. “It was more that I saw a vision of the future that night. I knew if I didn’t get my act together soon, I was probably going to miss any chance I had with you. One day, somebody great was going to come up to you just like that, and then you might fall in love with him. You and I would be over before we’d even started.”

“I would have waited, if you’d asked me to.” She reaches over to take his hand in hers, rubbing circles across the back of it. “That wouldn’t have been fair to you. What if someone else had come along in the meantime who could really make you happy? You deserved more than I could give then, you would have had every right to explore your options.”

“Max,” her other hand reaches up to touch the side of his face. “As long as the possibility of you was on the table, there was never going to be anyone else.”

He closes his eyes briefly at her gentle touch. “I finally knew what I wanted, but my head was still a mess. If we’d started this then, you may not have liked the person that you got.”

She isn’t sure how to respond to this somewhat melancholic pronouncement. On the one hand, if he’d said something that night, given her even one hint that he wanted her, it would have saved both of them a lot of indecision and heartbreak. On the other, he hadn’t been ready for a relationship yet, not a serious one anyway. Knowing they both wanted to be together and having him deliberately hold himself back might have been even worse. She could have ended up resenting him, and they never would have got here at all. And she’s so glad that they have.

She looks around the restaurant, as New York’s beautiful people dine, drink and laugh together. It’s the type of place Akash might have taken her to on a date, fond as he was of gourmet food and high society. But Max she feels, doesn’t really fit in here. He lives to help others and to improve things, and he has always been uncomfortable around lavish displays of opulence. In his eyes, they’re an occupational hazard of his position, not a perk. He prefers to be in the trenches, so to speak, getting his hands dirty, leading from the front. But he brought her here anyway, to an environment where he feels so out of place, because he thought it was what she would want. She feels bad for him that the evening he planned for them has backfired like this. She understands what he was trying to do, and she thinks it’s both adorable and hilarious that he thinks he needs to pull out all the stops to impress her. He won her over long ago, he doesn’t need to keep proving his worth to her.

A glance over the dessert menu shows her intricate pastries, rich cakes and everything you could need to induce a sugar coma, but suddenly she finds she’s craving simplicity. Everything about this night has been extravagant, and she thinks she’s had enough of it.

“Let’s go for ice-cream,” she says, and Max who is also perusing the dessert menu with no real enthusiasm, looks up. “This meal has been incredible, but to be honest, all I really feel like is something normal for dessert.”

He looks a bit surprised, and for a moment she wonders if she’s upset him, but then he’s smiling at her, and it’s the one that makes her heart pound, and her knees go weak and her insides turn to mush.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.”

Max insists on paying the bill and covering the tip, and they’re waylaid briefly on their way out by Micah Tebarros himself. The warm way in which he and Max greet each other makes it obvious how Max managed to snag a table at such short notice; they’ve clearly got history. After he’s introduced to Helen, Micah pulls a regretful face.

“I gotta get back to the kitchen,” he says. “Just wanted to come and see for myself who finally drove Max here to call in his long-standing favor.” He grins at her. “I can tell he’s a lucky man. Make sure you keep an eye on him, won’t you? He deserves it.” Before she has time to do more than nod, Micah grasps first her hand, then Max’s, and disappears again.

They buy ice creams from the first ice cream parlour they come across and sequester themselves at a tiny table at the back. It’s quite late now, so they’re the only customers, and the lone cashier is busying himself with his closing duties and completely ignoring them. Finally, the pressure has come off, and they chat about everything and nothing as they eat their cones. Helen presses him to tell her about why Tebarros had owed him a favor, and he eventually relents. She can’t keep the loving smile off her face as the story unfolds; it’s so Max, to take a chance, to believe in something better. It’s one of the qualities she loves most about him. After a while she realizes she’s probably staring at him like some besotted teenager but can’t bring herself to care. It’s nice to be able to look at him like this without the guilt, or the fear that someone will see. It’s so freeing to finally be able to love him openly, and not have to hide it.

* * *

They’re there for nearly an hour before the impatient cashier finally throws them out the moment the clock hits closing time.

“It’s getting late,” Max says regretfully. “I said I’d pick up Luna by 10:30.”

“We’d better get a cab.” She raises her arm to flag one down. Again, there’s a tension growing between them, but this is a different kind of tension. The good kind. The kind that flutters the heart and heats the blood. It’s the end of the date, but is it the end of the night? They’ve said all that needs to be said, for now. They both know where they stand. But there’s a whole other avenue they’ve yet to explore, save for that one hurried, frenzied kiss. There’s no question that she loves him for his mind, his kindness, his sense of humor, for the fact he’s such a great father, will fight for what’s right, but she’s also so physically attracted to him, she can barely stand it. And now, finally, _finally_ they’re approaching the point when she can act on it.

She pictures going back with him to his apartment, lights down low, totally alone. Where they’ll be able to shut out the world and forget about the time passing. She can do all the things she’s always wanted to. Things she’s fantasized about for longer than she’d ever care to admit. She can take her time. Or maybe not. Kiss every inch of him, feel his skin against hers. Fall asleep next to him, wake up in his arms. Let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she’s his for the taking, body and soul, just in case he still doubts it.

Oh, how she wants him to ask her. It would be unfair of her to push him to take this next step, they’ve already made huge strides today, so the ball’s in his court now.

A taxi peels off from the traffic and trundles up beside them.

“So, I guess this is goodnight then,” she says lightly, though disappointment is coursing through her like an infection, invading every inch of her. “I had a great time.” She means it. It wasn’t perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but any time with Max is time well spent.

“Me too.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

And then he’s closing the gap between them, and he’s kissing her again, but there’s even more behind it this time. It’s tender and it’s sensual, but it’s also fire, and it’s passion, and he’s clutching her tightly, but it isn’t enough because she wants him to touch her everywhere, and never, ever stop-

Their moment shatters as the cabbie hits the horn impatiently. “In or out people, make up your minds!” he snaps. “I haven’t got all night.”

Max ignores him, leans forward until his forehead is resting against hers, her hand is clutched in both of his and pressed to his chest. She can feel his heart racing and knows that hers is too. It feels like it did in the early days, when they’d have those intense moments, where she’d gaze into his eyes or hug him, and some terrible, selfish part of her would wish those moments would never have to end. Tonight, it doesn’t have to, if that’s what they both want. She knows what she wants, so it’s up to him now.

“Come home with me,” Max whispers, breathlessly.

She can’t help but chuckle. “Is that an order, Doctor Goodwin?”

“No, not an order, just a very fervent request.”

“And are your intentions honorable?” He leans toward her to whisper in her ear, and his warm breath tickles her neck, making her shiver all over.

“Only if you want them to be.”

She lets the moment hang there, savoring it. How many times has she thought about him saying this to her? Wanting her. Desiring her, and being completely unapologetic about it. She will never, ever forget this day, or this moment.

“I think we can work something out, hopefully to our _mutual satisfaction._ ”

She sees it in his eyes, desire, want, need, and the only question now is how long it will take to get back to his place, put Luna to bed, and finally experience what she’s been wondering about, and dreaming about for so long now, she’s forgotten what it feels like to _not_ want him. She’s not sure how much longer she can wait.

“So that’s a yes, then?”

She can’t help the small chuckle at his words. As though there was any chance at all she would deny him. It's rare that she ever denies him anything, and _this_ she wants as much as he does. Perhaps more.

“God Max,” her voice is low and breathy, and her free hand is slowly winding itself around his neck, pulling him in ever closer. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate any feedback you give, so please feel free to do so, if you wish.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts if you'd like to leave them.


End file.
